Sounds Like Textures
by MetaBlade
Summary: Three years ago, he would have been admiring the emerald sheen of the grass under the rippling moonlight, and watching the way the grey smoke curled and twisted in the sky. (AU oneshot in which Luigi is blind.)


**Author's note:** This is the sort of idea I get in the middle of the night. I've wanted to experiment with writing a blind character for a long time, and so of course, Luigi ended up being my guinea pig. This was quite interesting to do, even if it's mostly a plotless oneshot/writing practise.

Enjoy!

 **Edit:** I think I fixed the repeated typos of Mario's name. I think. Please excuse me if there are more.

* * *

The sounds of the night were almost like textures in his mind, softly tangible, as easy to feel and to recognise as vision, as though his ears could see the sounds better than anyone else's eyes could have seen what was making them. Quiet jazz hummed out of the stereo on the kitchen windowsill; he knew it was on the windowsill because he often sensed cool, fresh air coming from the same direction. There was a plant pot sitting beside the front door that he always had to water because Mario never remembered. He felt its leaves caressing his leg whenever he walked past.

'Want another hotdog, Bro?'

He turned his head in the direction of the voice that was oh-so-familiar to him, hearing the smile in it even though he couldn't see Mario's face at all. The rich, saliva-inducing smells of meat on the barbecue kept wafting up his nostrils, and the heat of simmering flames warmed his right side.

'Sure, thanks, Mario.'

It was a beautiful summer's evening. The grass was cool under his knees as he knelt there, listening attentively as his brother, Mario, and the rest of the party guests milled around the garden, talking and laughing, occasionally hurrying indoors to get more food or drink. He raised his glass of orange juice to his lips and drank slowly. He hadn't been talking much since the party started - he was nowhere near as sociable as Mario - but he'd been enjoying the company all the same.

Across the lawn, Toad was engaged in a very enthusiastic conversation with the princess.

'...So, like, I put a bet on Yoshi to win, but I wasn't really feeling it, y'know, so I changed my bet at the last second, put twenty coins on King Boo - and GUESS WHAT?! King Boo came in first place!'

Peach giggled. It sounded a little muffled, as if she'd put a hand over her mouth to try and cover the noise. 'That's wonderful!' she said once she had regained control of herself.

'Yeah, and I got aaaaall dem monies from it - fifty coins total...'

A heavy footstep came down on Luigi's right side, that familiar thump of worn leather on grass. He turned, smiling, to accept a second hotdog given to him by Mario. 'Here, Bro. Want anything else?'

'I'm good.' There was a moment's silence, then Luigi added in an exasperated voice, 'It's fine, Mario. You don't need to take care of me. I'm good.' He let his tone soften towards the end, knowing how much his brother worried about him, and appreciating it, despite his exasperation, more than he would ever say.

'Heh... sorry,' said Mario sheepishly. He scratched the back of his head. 'But I can't help it, you know? It hasn't been that long since... well...'

Luigi listened to his movements, and his mind's eye showed him a picture of his brother awkwardly averting his gaze. Kind and brave though Mario was, tact wasn't exactly his strong suit.

Luigi bit into the end of his hotdog and didn't speak up until he'd chewed and swallowed the mouthful of smoky-tasting sausage and spicy ketchup. 'It's been three years. That's long enough.'

'Three years since you... could... y'know... like the rest of us here...' There was a faint noise, a stirring against the air, and he imagined Mario gesturing wildly in the direction of the garden and its inhabitants. But he wasn't paying much attention to the sounds anymore. All of a sudden, the hotdog in his hand didn't seem to taste so good, and his earlier urges to leave the party and go upstairs, to his dark, quiet bedroom where nothing would disturb him, came back stronger than ever. Mario felt sympathy for him - he'd maybe go as far as to say pity - and worst of all, he could entirely understand why.

Three years ago, he would have been sitting here in this exact same patch of grass and enjoying yet another party with his friends. Just like tonight. Except back then, his mind's eye wouldn't have been focused so sharply, so acutely, on how cool the grass felt under his hands and knees, or how the smoke from the barbecue mingled softly with the night air. He wouldn't have been delighting in the challenge of picking out different individuals' voices from the commotion that surrounded him, and then attempting to listen to their conversations without being noticed.

Three years ago, he would have been admiring the emerald sheen of the grass under the rippling moonlight, and watching the way the grey smoke curled and twisted in the sky. His eyes would have been everywhere, enjoying the sights that filled the softly illuminated backyard. He would have been smiling as he looked around at his friends, seeing Toad's red-spotted head bent low as he talked gambling with Princess Peach, or watching Mario poking the coals with his metal fork, his brow furrowed in concentration.

A wave of nostalgia hit him.

'Get over it, Mario,' he said, letting a bit of impatience harden his voice. He took another bite of his hotdog, then added, 'You might feel sorry for me, but I don't want looking after. And I don't need looking after.'

'Really?'

'Yes! Listen... I appreciate you wanting to help, I really do.' _More than I'll ever say. More than you would ever want to hear._ 'But I'd rather just keep on living normally. People making a fuss just... makes it all feel worse, somehow, you know?' He sighed and scratched the back of his head, his cap lifting up slightly as he did so.

'I get it, I think.' Mario's voice was far quieter than usual, and he sounded thoughtful. 'I guess having people worry about you all the time makes you feel more like a cripple, huh?' He barked out a laugh.

'Sensitive. Really sensitive.'

'Hey, you wanted me to stop making a fuss, so I am.'

'Yeah. That's one good thing.'

'But still, Bro...' Mario shuffled his feet awkwardly, soft leather brushing too-long blades of grass. 'It's hard for us, too, y'know. I mean, I think it took at least two weeks for Peach to stop crying every time she looked at you after the accident.'

Luigi remembered that. He hadn't been able to see her, of course, but he clearly remembered the tremulous, I'm-trying-to-sound-normal-but-failing-completely way Peach had spoken to him after 'the accident', and how long it had taken her to start talking to him normally again.

'And Toadette... Well, she wasn't crying, thank the stars, but still...'

Luigi's gut twisted uncomfortably. Toadette was probably his best and most loyal friend; they had known each other for years and she had always put time aside to help him with things, while simultaneously never worrying about him so much that it became suffocating. Quite the opposite of Mario's overprotectiveness. But he was well aware that his injury had shaken her almost as much as it had shaken him at the time. There's something unnerving about your best friend suddenly becoming permanently blind, knowing that they were never going to be the same again.

'She was alright in the end,' he said, hoping it was true. The warm hotdog in his hand was quite forgotten.

'Yeah, she was,' replied Mario softly. He reached out, hesitated for an instant, then clapped a hand over his younger brother's shoulder. 'Look after yourself, Bro,' he said in a more gruff tone. Luigi nodded, then listened as he stood up and moved away, back towards the barbecue.

Smiling slightly, he leaned back and let the sounds and smells of the party flow across him.


End file.
